Page 10 of The Single Dad's Guide to Recreation

She doesn’t use puppets or a felt board. All she seems to need is a musical voice and expert storytelling skills to keep them enthralled through three entire picture books. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Percy sit still for so long without being constrained by a high chair or booster seat. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t fully entranced too.

After the stories, Paul and another dad haul a box of cardboard bricks outside and Avery suggests that we all join in the fun. Some child-parent pairs work together easily, and some require gentle coaching from Avery to avoid a power struggle or a tantrum. I’m not surprised when Percy is more excited about knocking a tower down than building it. I’m even a bit proud that, instead of getting frustrated, I turn it into a game. By the fifth tower, Percy and a little girl count along with me as I stack the blocks before they kick them over.

Just as I’m running out of silly things to do with the blocks, like attempts at juggling or wearing one as a hat, Avery brings out a tray with cups of juice and little bowls of graham crackers. She checks to make sure Percy doesn’t have any food allergies before getting the kids settled at a child-sized picnic table.

While the kids snack and the adults socialize, I find myself wondering if doing more parent-child activities would’ve made Lisa’s postpartum depression easier to manage. Or if I’d been home more instead of practically living at the office, we could have participated together. Before I can get too maudlin, the hour and fifteen minutes is up, and Avery’s waving goodbye to the class at the gate.

So far, it seems that Avery’s level of expertise is exceptional. Much higher than what you’d expect from looking at her resume. Unfortunately, the cost of running this playgroup is so high, it’ll take some doing to justify keeping it.

I do hope this won’t be its last summer.

And if it has to be cut, I really hope it won’t be me who has to drop the axe.

ChapterFive

AVERY

Despite his claim that he’s in over his head, Josh is a natural with his little boy. He had me in stitches when he pretended to eat Percy’s crackers, going on and on in a terrible French accent about how they were “magnifique.” In my book, a buttoned-up man being silly with a kid is hotter than a shirtless firefighter in a calendar photo shoot.

Meanwhile, I’ve tried to schedule a meeting with Josh, but something or another has needed my attention at the end of each Playgroup meeting. Then, once I get back to my office, ten things or another demand my intervention, and I never get around to calling him.

Adding to the drama around CPR, Leia cannot stop complaining about how Elijah keeps showing up with his entourage to take photos and measurements and notes. She claims her grouchiness is all about the threats to the center, but I’m pretty sure whatever happened between her and Eli before he left town is upsetting her too. I guess even best friends keep some secrets from each other.

I know I have.

As I approach the atrium where my boss-friend and I share lunch at least a couple times a week, all her attention is on the contents of a manila file folder.

“Best tacos in town coming right up!” I say as I set the tray on the picnic table.

Flinching, she closes the folder and shoves it in her tote bag. “Great! Let’s eat!”

There’s something off about her chipper tone. Mostly that it’s chipper. “Are you hiding something from me? Like whatever’s in that file?”

“Pfft.” She waves my accusation away. “I just don’t want those reports to get grease-stained. What’d you get?”

I let it go for the time being because I’m too hungry to argue. “I didn’t eat breakfast so I may have gone overboard. You have a choice of bean, chicken, barbacoa, or tofu.”

“I’ll take the chicken and barbacoa, if that’s okay.” She unwraps a to-go spork and pulls out the containers of sides. “Not in the mood for vegetables.”

We’re both quiet as we divvy up the food and dig in, but after she takes a long sip of her soda, Leia grumbles, “Why do the assholes all have to be so good-looking?”

“Tell me about it,” I say with my mouth full. “That describes every person in your office the other day.”

She shakes her head. “Travis is a good guy. He’s just, you know, the engine’s running but nobody’s driving.”

“Come on now. Travis may not have a college degree, but he’s got people smarts.”

“True. You thought the others were hot?”

Her tone is way too casual as she picks up a plastic cup of salsa and drags a chip through it, but two can play this game.

“I mean, Elijah filled out nicely,” I say. When she stuffs a giant scoop of chip and guac into her mouth, my suspicions are confirmed. Leia is fastidious about taking small bites and chewing thoroughly, unless she’s upset about something. “Are you still hung up on him?”

“Of course not,” she argues with her mouth full. Also something she never does. “What about the other guy?”

“Which one?”

“The one who signed up with his kid for Playgroup. What was his name?”

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